A Shot of Scotch and a Bottle of Blame
by MelWil
Summary: Harry doesn't know how anyone could be to blame except himself.


**Title: A Shot of Scotch and a Bottle of Blame  
Author: MelWil  
Fandom: Harry Potter  
Rating: PG13 (language)  
Disclaimer: They belong to J. K. Rowling not me.  
Feedback: melina.wilson at gmail dot com   
Summary: He doesn't know how anyone could be to blame except himself.**  
  
"You're back again."  
  
Harry looked up at the smiling Healer and nodded. "I come every week."  
  
She smiled and handed him the plastic clipboard. "I didn't see you last Saturday."  
  
Harry pulled a face. He didn't want to think about last week. "I come every week, except last week."  
  
"It's important for us to qualify these things, though." She took the clipboard away from him and read through it. "All right then, Mr Potter. Down the end, to the right, three rooms in."  
  
Harry gritted his teeth. "I know. I come every -"  
  
"- Except last week." The Healer smiled again. "Have a good day, Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry ignored the Healer's cheerful goodbye and started down the long corridor. They had, he noticed, replaced some of the dead light bulbs. It was a nice touch. It made for a change, something different. Nothing else in the place seemed to change.  
  
At first he dreaded coming. He hated the sterile smell of the place, the squeaky, rubbery noises, the cheerful politeness of the staff. He hated the way he sometimes heard screaming. He hated the headaches that stung and lingered hours after he'd walked out the door. But he came anyway, and he got used to it. And he hated that even more.  
  
Her name was printed on the little notice board next to the door. Someone had drawn a little pair of shoes on the bottom of the 'H', a trail of ants crawling across the top of one of the 'r's. Like they thought it was funny. Harry wondered if he'd have the energy to complain. He never seemed to have energy.  
  
She was sitting up, resting against a colourless pile of pillows. The tray was pulled in front of her and she was holding an open book. She smiled and he allowed the faintest glimmer of hope that she might be getting better. He sat on the hard, orange chair and picked up the phone. On the other side of the reinforced glass, Hermione picked up a phone of her own.  
  
"Alright, Hermione?"  
  
She smiled and moved the tray away, shifting around to face him. "It's been a good day."  
  
"The Healer sounded pleased."  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "They're always pleased. Especially when visitors are asking."  
  
Harry knew that. "But you've been working on your exercises, right?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "They're going to give me my wand back next week. They think I might be able to keep it this time. Barring accidents."  
  
"That's good."  
  
She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I missed you last week. Almost got my days all mixed up."  
  
"I had to do some shopping." Harry hesitated. "I ran into someone. Got a little tied up."  
  
"It's okay," she dropped her head. "I just missed you."  
  
"Is the food getting any better?"  
  
She laughed. "I'd die for a Hogwart's feast right now."  
  
Harry leaned forward, his head brushing against the glass screen. "Don't you mean you'd kill for . . ." He fell silent and looked away.  
  
Her voice was small and quiet. "We say that word in here," she said. "It isn't the place for it."

Harry closed the front door heavily and stomped into his undersized kitchen. The door of the liquor cabinet flew open too easily, and he swore as he moved mugs and breakfast bowls and opened packets of sweets to make room for the bottle of scotch. The glass was dirty, a relic from last night's drinking, but washing took seconds, minutes, and he wasn't willing to waste that time.  
  
The alcohol slopped over the edge of the glass, leaving a puddle on the bench. Harry ignored the mess and brought the glass to his lips. The scotch burned and then soothed. He stood, leaning into the counter, and drank, finishing half a glass before removing himself to the living room. He settled into the faded, worn chair, hugging the glass to his chest, and thought about what he'd done. Thought about Hermione.  
  
He'd tried to make it better, tried to smooth it over. Tried to pretend that it was just a mistake, an accident, that he hadn't been thinking. But her attention had wavered and fallen away from him, she refused to look at him, refused to forgive him. She wouldn't smile as he walked away.  
  
He wondered if he should have bothered going at all. She was thrown now, she would have trouble concentrating. She wouldn't get to keep her wand.  
  
He was licking the last drops of alcohol from the glass when the door swung open. Neville flicked on the light, dropping his overnight bag near the door and a small parcel on the table before he noticed Harry was sitting there in the dark. He didn't, Harry realised, look surprised.  
  
"Bad day?" He removed his cloak and looked for a clean place to lay it, before settling into the couch across from Harry. He lay his cloak across his knees.  
  
Harry raised his glass to his lips, searching for drink that wasn't there. "There have been better." He pushed the glass across the table, upsetting a pile of Quidditch magazines onto the floor."I'm not doing her any good, Neville."  
  
Neville looked away from Harry. "I think she's stronger than you give her credit for, Harry."  
  
"She wouldn't look at me." Harry leaned forward, running the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass. "I screwed up."  
  
"You've got to stop blaming yourself, Harry."  
  
"Maybe other people should stop blaming me first."  
  
Neville stood up and sighed. "What happened last week?"  
  
Harry stared at the floor. "Are you seeing Sally tonight?"  
  
Neville ignored the distraction. "What happened?"  
  
Harry pushed himself back into the chair, sinking into it as far as possible. "I don't want to talk about it."

He woke in the middle of the night, his heart pounding and his mouth dry. He was lying in a pool of his own sweat. Another nightmare, then.  
  
It was the same one, over and over again. Always the same one. The one where Ron disappeared and Hermione was sure she could use spells and charms to find him. Except the magic was too strong for her, and she ended up killing Ron. And Harry wasn't there because he was too busy fighting Voldemort. The same nightmare, over and over again.  
  
It was worse because it was true.  
  
Harry rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of pajama pants from the floor. He padded out of his room, through the dark living room and into the kitchen. He kept the alcohol in the kitchen. Alcohol was exactly what he needed.  
  
He sat in his usual chair, the one which with his imprint in it. He sat and he drank. He tried to forget it ever happened.

The sun was flooding through the window, streaming across the living room and into Harry's eyes. He groaned and rolled away from the light. Closing the curtains was beyond him. He needed sleep.  
  
"Harry."  
  
He groaned and pushed his face into the arm of the chair.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
Harry prised his eyes open and stared at the fireplace. "What do you want?"  
  
Tonks grinned at him. "You look like shit, Harry."  
  
He slid out of the chair and knelt in front of the fireplace where he could see her better. "Gee, thanks. Some sort of friend you are."  
  
"What are you doing today?"  
  
"Sitting around. Dying a little. Killing anyone who gets near me."  
  
Tonks primly tucked a piece of shoulder length green hair behind her ear. "So, tickets to the Quidditch game are out of the question then?"  
  
"Would I have to be sociable?"  
  
"Not in the slightest. I'm sure the twins wouldn't care if you were sociable or not, as long as they can boast about their latest enterprise to you." Tonks laughed. "They reckon they're good enough to take on the European market. Something about the European Union removing barriers."  
  
"Which twins?" Harry's voice was harsh, but he didn't care.  
  
Tonks bit on her lip. "Fred and George. They gave me two tickets, told me to invite whomever I liked."  
  
Harry closed his eyes. "Did you tell them you intended to bring me along?"  
  
"Not exactly."  
  
"I think you'll find they would be less than happy if they saw me there." Harry's voice was calm, emotionless.  
  
"You're blowing this out of proportion, Harry."  
  
Harry pulled himself out of the chair and walked out of the living room. "I'll see you later, Tonks."

There was a Muggle pub down the road from his house, a dusty, dingy affair that occasionally reminded him of the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't his usual place to drink – he had a perfectly good house for that, but sometimes he grew tired of his own company, of the continual voices in his head, of the screaming.  
  
He knew that people watched him down the pub. They watched him coming and going and counted how many drinks he had. He wondered if any of them knew his name, or that he was different to the rest of them, or that there was a whole world who used to revere him.  
  
He wondered if any of them noticed he was slowly going insane.  
  
"Harry Potter!"  
  
Harry looked up from his half finished beer. Tonks was standing in front of his table, her hair back to normal, with her robes draped over her arm like a winter coat. Behind her was Neville, with a sheepish look on his face.  
  
"Right." He picked up his glass and emptied it it. "You found me."  
  
"What on Earth are you doing to yourself, Harry?" Tonks sat down across from him, pulling Neville down into another seat. "You still look like shit."  
  
"I'm drinking myself into oblivion, Tonks. It's like the Oblivious spell, but with a slight after taste. Care to join me?"  
  
Tonks wrinkled up her nose. "Not today."  
  
"We're taking you home Harry." Neville said, his voice firm. "You can't do this."  
  
"Why not, Neville? I'm the boy-who-lived, aren't I?" Harry slammed his glass back down on the table. "The saviour of the fucking wizarding world? Why can't I do this?"  
  
Tonks grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. "Because you're about to be thrown out. Come on, we're taking you home."  
  
As the patrons turned to watch them, voices hushed in whisper, Neville took Harry's other arm and helped Tonks push him out of the pub and down the street. When they arrived at the house, they pushed him into the couch and Neville took himself to the tiny kitchen to make coffee.  
  
Tonks sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Neville told me you've been drinking a lot lately."  
  
Harry snorted. "Oh, I see. He's come running to you tattling, has he? Just like a little first year. Bloody typical, really."  
  
"Careful," Tonk warned. "You'll begin to sound like Snape if you keep that up. And I came to Neville to ask how you were. He didn't come tattling to anyone. He is worried abut you, though. A lot of people are."  
  
"Well that would be a first." Harry laughed. "People usually only worry about me when the world's in danger. Didn't see anyone worrying about me after . . ." His voice trailed off as Neville came into the room and placed an overlarge mug of black coffee in front of him.  
  
"After you killed Voldemort." Neville finished. His voice was quiet and tired. He looked older that he really was. "After Hermione killed Ron."  
  
"Exactly," Harry snapped. "Everyone was too busy rebuilding the wizarding world to give a damn about me then."  
  
"We tried, Harry." Neville sat down and rubbed his eyes. "Seamus and myself, the Weasleys, Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, Tonks and Mad Eye Moody. We were all worried about you. But you wouldn't let any of us get close to you. You wouldn't let anyone help."  
  
"You pushed us away Harry." Tonks inclined her head to the side a little and bit her lip. "The only person you talked to was Hermione."  
  
"No one else was talking to her." Harry said. "You were all treating her like a criminal."  
  
Neville and Tonks exchanged glances. "No one was really sure, Harry." Tonks said softly. "The evidence against her was pretty bad. Especially after Umbridge . . ."  
  
"What about me, then?" Harry shouted. "Why am I any different to Hermione? I killed people too, remember. Loads of them. I killed Voldemort! I'm a murderer too!"  
  
Neville looked uncomfortable. "You're . . . different, Harry. Voldemort was evil. It was a war."  
  
Tonks leaned forward and grabbed Harry's hands. "Harry, tell us what happened the Saturday before last."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because we're worried about you."  
  
"I went shopping," Harry said looking away from them. "And I ran into Ginny Weasley. And we exchanged words. She made it pretty clear that she still blames me for Ron's death. Wanted to know how I could let that happen to my best friend." He cleared his throat. "She asked me if I was still visiting Hermione. When I told her I was, she slapped me and walked away." He shrugged. "I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it."  
  
"Harry," he looked at Neville. "Why do you go to visit Hermione?"  
  
"Because it's my fault she's like that. It's my fault she killed Ron."  
  
"No it's not." Neville shook his head. "I think it's time you stopped blaming yourself, Harry." 

"You're back again."  
  
Harry wrote his name on the clipboard. "Yeah," he said.  
  
She took the board back from him. "Very good, Mr Potter. Down the end, to the right, three rooms in."  
  
He nodded. "Thank you."  
  
"Have a good day, Mr Potter."  
  
He ignored the Healer and walked down the hallway.  
  
Her name had been written again on the notice board. The letters were all capitals, slanting to the side like someone had scrawled them in a hurry. He pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.  
  
She was lying down, this time, the covers pulled up to her chin. The tray next to her bed held a plate full of colourless food. He sat on his chair and picked up the phone.  
  
"Hermione."  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Hermione." He tried again.  
  
She reached for the phone next to her bed. "They took my wand away, Harry. I couldn't control it. I was too angry."  
  
Harry nodded. "I know."  
  
"Why did you have to come, Harry?" She looked at him and her face was full of anger and frustration. "You just ruined everything."  
  
"I'm sorry, Hermione." He stood up.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
He smiled, just a little bit. "I'm going home."  
  
"Will I see you next week?" She sat up looking at him, her eyes wide and scared.  
  
He shook his head. "Goodbye, Hermione."  
  
He put down the phone and walked out of the room. He stopped at the Healer's desk. "Goodbye," he told her.  
  
"See you next week, Mr Potter." She gave him her biggest fake smile.  
  
"No. You won't." He turned and walked away.


End file.
